It seemed that all of life pivoted on five simple words—when the war is over—as if the world held its collective breath and could only exhale once one side or the other had become victorious.

It seemed as if people believed that things would return to normal, denying that the world was, in fact, profoundly changed.

She had finished off the previous letter with All the Best, as she had with nearly all the rest of them. But on this one, she’d signed Love, Margaret without even thinking. It was not a gesture of romanticism, as that’s how she had completed her notes to John as well. But it was a symbol that however the heart wanted to label it, she’d grown to care for William and the expression was a sincere one.

She’d sealed the envelope immediately before she could second-guess that choice and how he might react to it, but found herself trembling now as she opened the door to the mailbox.

The letter made a plinking sound as it hit the bottom.

“First letter of the day. Must be an important one,” said a thickly accented voice.

“Good morning, Mr. Bellavia,” she answered, dodging his statement. The newspaper stand owner had just purchased this shop a few months ago from another Italian family who had never kept up with the newer products that the younger generation wanted. The store’s wood green exterior had deteriorated over the years, but Mr. Bellavia had reinvigorated it with a fresh coat of paint and a new sign.

He pulled a worn scarf from around his neck as he opened his shuttered metal doors and began to arrange the bundle of the day’s newspapers in front.

“What’s your flavor today?” he asked. “Got a new box of Wrigley’s in if you’d like some gum. Or if you’d care for some cigarettes to calm those nerves, Mild as May is made for the ladies.”

“No, thank you,” she replied, regretting that her pensiveness was on such display. If Margaret did smoke, she’d never choose something marketed specifically for women, lest she get a tongue-lashing from Gladys on the inequality of it. She had to give him credit, though, for pushing the two items. It seemed to her that chewing gum and cigarettes should indeed be bought in pairs. The one covering up the smell of the other. But she’d prefer to save the money on both and take it to the movies.

It was a strategy that she’d employed in her father’s shop—to turn one sale into two by suggesting that the customer buy a set of spare laces to go along with their shoes. Her father had taught her that the profits were in such margins.

She was about to say goodbye and walk on when a headline caught her eye.

ARRIVING AT NORMANDY, shouted the front page of the New York Times.